


dancin' around the lies we tell

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Gay Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Rich Bucky, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, and bucky really loves steve, and steve is a really big idiot, howard just really loves bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-11-23 06:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bucky belongs to one of the richest families in New York. Steve lives in a tenement in Brooklyn and barely gets by. When they meet, Bucky lies about his life, wanting Steve to like him for more than just his wealth. He wasn't planning on falling in love with the kid. Howard is his best friend since childhood and he's in love with Bucky. This causes a great deal of conflict and now Bucky isn't sure what he's supposed to do.This fic is a direct spin-off bucky/howard of "we've not yet lost all our graces" by wintermadethissoldier. About 99.9% compliant to original work. Small details have been changed and a few events have been moved to better fit this spin-off. Focused mostly on the aspects of Bucky and Howard's relationship through the same timeline, but still has some Steve/Bucky.This is no longer updated due to a lot of hate I was getting. Thank you so much for reading <3





	1. 1934-1937

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wintermadethissoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermadethissoldier/gifts).
  * Inspired by [we've not yet lost all our graces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247590) by [wintermadethissoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermadethissoldier/pseuds/wintermadethissoldier). 

> If you haven't read the Rich Bucky™ fic, please please check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247590/chapters/45771061). It is still in progress and this will be updated as it updates. This fic will include excerpts of the original text, anything that was apart of the original fic is in BOLD (some passages may have slight editing but marginally). Everything else is my addition. This is directly following the timeline and events for the rich bucky au. This can be read without reading the original, but I picked up from chapter 5 of that fic, so you do miss out on a lot of backstory for Bucky and stevebucky. Not all of the same events are included, but all of the ones I felt were important to know for the timeline in between all the buckyhoward.

**“C’mon, let’s go outside. I’m dyin’ in here.” Howard tugs at his collar, eyeing the waiter that nearly fell over himself trying to catch Bucky’s discarded champagne flute. Bucky just nods in response, grabbing a carafe of water straight off one of the tables as they make their way outside. They end up in the garden sitting on the low wall under a willow tree, hidden from the party upstairs but still able to see the bay for the fireworks. Bucky used to disappear here all the time as a child, particularly when parties got too overwhelming for him and he needed a place where he wouldn’t be spotted by guests on the balcony, eager to pinch the young Barnes’ cheeks and smear lipstick all over his cheek. In more recent years it had served as a perfect hideout for drinking and smoking, though he figured his mother always knew where he disappeared off to.**

**“Better than Chicago?” Bucky asks, taking a gulp of water before passing it to Howard.**

**“Marginally.” Howard takes the carafe without looking at Bucky, propping a leg up on the wall and resting his arm over his knee. “They’ve got a new hooch out there that’ll make you go blind, I swear. Couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth for days.” He presses the cool glass to his forehead, closing his eyes. “They don’t fuck around out there.”**

**Bucky just hums noncommittally, perking up at the first red explosion in the distance. “They’re starting already.” He nudges Howard with his elbow, already pulling the glass from his hands for another drink. Howard acquiesces, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence as they watch the glitter of the fireworks reflect off of the bay. They drain the water in no time, the glass discarded somewhere in the grass below with a dull thump. Bucky knows that graduation looms in front of him like a guillotine, that the world is apparently going to hell in a handbasket all around him, that his father’s patience with his cagey, strange behavior is running out fast; but he can’t bring himself to care about any of it. He’s oddly elated, riding a buzz of liquor and adrenaline from dancing, sitting next to his oldest friend on one of the most expensive properties in the Hamptons, watching fireworks developed by Stark Industries and paid for by the Barnes. Bucky felt like he owned the world—more so than usual—and for once, he didn’t feel as though his entire body was on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.**

**Bucky finds himself looking west towards Brooklyn as the finale starts, wondering if another set of blue eyes is looking at the same fireworks, is feeling the same mixture of elation and longing that swims through Bucky’s veins right alongside too much liquor. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Howard turn towards him, his expression inscrutable as his eyes flick over Bucky’s face. He turns towards Howard, about to ask him what was the matter before Howard’s lips are against Bucky’s, soft and only a little clumsy as he leans forward.**

**Bucky’s brain short-circuits, the champagne making him slow and muddling his thinking. <em>** ** _Howard, kissing me_ ** **</em>, he thinks in a stroke of brilliance. Before he can get anything more to fire across his synapses, Howard’s already pulled back, looking at Bucky with wide eyes. Neither of them says a word, both of them blushing furiously as the finale dies down into nothing more than a smattering of claps from the balcony upstairs and smoke hanging over the bay. Howard breaks eye contact first, opting to look straight ahead and twist his fingers together in his lap. Bucky distantly realizes that he doesn’t think that Howard has ever looked <em>** ** _nervous_ ** **</em> about anything in his life. The Cassanova persona had cracked, revealing a boy that chewed on the inside of his cheek and twisted his hands in his lap in an anxious rhythm.**

**He knows that this is wrong. Bucky had been in Brooklyn Heights long enough to know what the police did to men who preferred to share the beds of other men, had seen too many artists fall from grace because they didn’t keep their sexual pursuits under wraps. He didn’t have to be a practicing Christian to know that this sort of thing was condemned on nearly every spiritual and moral level there was. But he didn’t feel repulsed in the slightest, didn’t feel as though he was committing some grave sin. He had always thought that it was the partner that was lacking in style, always slightly repulsed by their advances and sticky lips; this was far different, with rougher lips and a spark that shot down Bucky’s spine that he thought he was supposed to get with the dames. His brain is trying to catch up with him, processing far too much information as his brain breaks and tries to reform around his new reality. Howard kissed him, and Bucky didn’t mind it. He actually kind of liked it.**

**He’s confused—he’s never thought of Howard in that context before, doesn’t realize how he could have missed all the signs leading up to this. How long had it been going on? He knows Howard took a huge risk with this, feels the impact of that kind of trust deep in his gut like a punch. Howard surely knew that he was risking their friendship, his standing in society and in his father’s company, his entire reputation. He can’t quite yet reconcile this Howard with the one that so gleefully slept through most of America’s beauty queens, so his brain instead shifts to what has been clawing its way to the front of his mind this whole time: It’s Steve’s birthday. It’s the Fourth of July and he was being kissed by Howard Stark and Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it was that Steve wasn’t here; that he wasn’t the one sitting next to him on the wall, knocking his heels against the stone and looking up at Bucky through his lashes. He tries to screw his eyes shut, think about anything else, but all he sees are eyes the color of sea glass looking at him with apprehension instead of deep brown. He wishes Steve was here. He almost barks out a manic laugh, his brain finding it quite hilarious that his world was being flipped upside-down and his only coherent thought was, ** ** _Wow, I wish Steve was here!_ **

**They sit in silence, Bucky trying his best to formulate a response that wouldn’t send Howard running while also making sure that he wasn’t leading him on. He took the evening of Howard’s breath beside him to mean that his friend had realized that Bucky wasn’t about to practice his boxing techniques on him, nor would he call running for Howard to be removed from the party and his life. Still, he stayed silent, floundering for the right words to say that could, impossibly, make this better.**

**“I know you love him.” Howard’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife, his voice resigned and tired, as though he had been arguing a losing battle all day.**

**Bucky visibly reels, turning on Howard with wide eyes. “What?”**

**Howard flicks his eyes over to Bucky’s before wincing, dropping his gaze back to his lap. “It’s written clear as a fuckin’ sign on your face, kid. It isn’t me you want.”**

** _Blue eyes, thin wrists, blonde bangs lifted by the wind, a laugh that sounds like windchimes._ **

**Bucky blinks, the images flashing past his eyes as vividly as if he was watching them at the movie theater. His brain doesn’t want to delve deeper into the truth that’s been germinating just beneath the surface of his consciousness for God knows how long, recoiling from the thought of having to face more dangerous facts. Even so, he can’t stop the onslaught of realization that crashes over him like a wave, something that he had been trying to bury for years coming to the surface.**

**He might like boys.**

**And he might be in love with Steve Rogers.**

**He stammers uselessly, shaking his head even as his mind finally grasps the truth. “I don’t– Howard, I’m not–”**

**“I’m one of the smartest people in the world, don’t play dumb with me. No one in their right mind would give up all of this,” Howard motions to the garden around them, the vast property that’s been passed down his mother’s line for generations. “Just for a ** ** _friend_ ** **.” There’s a hint of disdain in his voice, almost hidden behind the weariness. “You’re thick as a fucking rock, you know that? Christ, look at your face, you really didn’t know?”**

**Bucky just shakes his head mutely, his face burning as he stared resolutely at the grass beneath him. He doesn’t want to admit that he liked the feel of Howard’s lips against his, or that he wants to be around Steve more than he’s ever wanted to be around a potential girlfriend, or that Howard figured this all out before him and so ** ** _fuck who else knows_ ** **.**

**“Bucky. ** ** _Bucky_ ** **, look at me. You’re spiraling.” Howard’s voice is softer this time, bringing Bucky out of his own head with a hand on his jaw. “Breathe.”**

**He does, in for four beats, hold for seven, out for eight. Just like Howard taught him when they were kids and Bucky started hyperventilating when he got too overwhelmed at big parties. It was a secret that Howard had sworn to him that he would take to the grave—Bucky supposed they were adding to that list tonight.**

**“You really didn’t know?” Howard asks as Bucky’s breathing slows, dropping his hand self-consciously from his cheek.**

**Bucky just shakes his head in response, swallowing hard. “It isn’t exactly something I’ve considered.”**

**Howard sits back, staring towards the water instead of at Bucky. “I figured you were a bit of a fruit a while ago—never really had the same enthusiasm for dames like I do. You’re charming enough, don’t get me wrong, but you aren’t all over ‘em. And then when your little...well, whatever he is, came along, I knew you were gone. For Christ’s sake, Bucky, you <em>** ** _moved_ ** **</em> to Brooklyn ** ** _fucking_ ** ** Heights to stay in some hovel just to keep this kid around. You built a whole double life for what? To feel what it’s like to be poor? You took it far past the point of just a fun little experiment.”**

**“I wanted a friend that didn’t like me just because I have money.” Bucky repeats dumbly, the excuse sounding hollow and ridiculous on his lip.**

**Howard looks as though he’s been struck, pain flashing across his face. “Bullshit.” He spits. “I’ve never needed your money, Barnes. I didn’t stick by your sorry ass for seventeen years just because I wanted something from your family.”**

**Guilt lances through Bucky, hot and painful as he marvels at how marvelously he’s managed to fuck everything up so quickly. “I didn’t mean–”**

**“I’m sure you didn’t.” Howard doesn’t meet Bucky’s gaze, choosing to glare out at the water instead. Bucky stays silent, knowing he has no defense left and mentally kicking himself for being so callous. Eventually, Howard sighs, scrubbing at his face with a hand. “What I’m trying to say is that you wouldn’t have done all of that for a social experiment. Maybe this all started out as you wanting to adopt a little pet project, but you’re full-on obsessed with him now. I’ve never seen you as jealous as when he kissed that one broad before Christmas. You changed a huge part of your life just so you could be closer to him—it’s been obvious for years now, Buck.”**

**“Then why…” Bucky asks after a few moments, motioning between them.**

**Howard shrugs, reaching into his jacket to pull out a cigarette. “I don’t know.” He admits, his voice small as he lights the end of his cigarette. “Figured if you liked guys, you might give me a chance. Thought maybe Steve was just a pipe dream.” He closes his eyes, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Maybe I’m just drunk.”**

**Bucky stills, afraid to move too suddenly and break the rare moment of Howard’s vulnerability. “I thought you liked girls.”**

**Howard just laughs, short and humorless. “Nothin’ saying I’ve gotta choose between the two, pal. I can appreciate art on both sides.”**

**Bucky tries not to dwell too long on possibly being compared to art, Steve’s final painting of him for art classes floating to his mind. “Have you…”**

**“Been with other guys? Sure. Not as easy, obviously, and they have to be just as desperate to keep secrets as I am, but it’s happened.” Howard tilts his head back, smoking like he’s chasing something to numb him. “Why, you curious?”**

**Bucky tries to ignore the way heat rushes to his cheeks, shaking his head. “I just never knew.”**

**“Kind of the whole point.”**

**They lapse back into silence, Bucky desperately trying to make sense of his own mind and Howard kicking himself over ever thinking that the man he had pined after for years would want him back. He had been fighting a losing battle the day Bucky pulled that scrawny kid out of an alley; whatever chance he ever had with Bucky turned to dust in 1932. Howard wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted. He was even less used to feelings that spanned years, not just a few months of passing fancy. But Bucky didn’t need to know that, didn’t need to see any further down past the persona Howard had built for himself over the years as sarcastic, immovable, unflappable. He sighs, jumping down from the wall and studiously avoiding Bucky’s eyes.**

**“I’m going back up.” He couldn’t take the silence anymore, knew exactly who Bucky was thinking about in the aftermath of all of this. He didn’t need to torture himself any further tonight—he’d get over it eventually. He always had.**

**“I think I’ll stay out here a little longer.” Bucky says softly, sounding miles away.**

** _I know._ ** ** Howard thinks, leaving Bucky to his own thoughts.**

* * *

Bucky lays in bed that night as his mind replays the kiss. He can’t sleep now, Howard’s face popping up every time he closes his eyes. If not Howard, it’s Steve. What was he supposed to do? Bucky tosses in his bed, pulling the covers over his head and groaning audibly. Howard was right—Bucky really had fallen for Steve. It was always him; Bucky had chased after his attention and affection for years without ever realizing that he loved him. Now there was Howard. 

Why was the kiss all he could think about? The kiss. It happened so fast, but Howard’s lips were so soft, so delicate against his own. He touched his own lips, remembering the feeling. A pull in his stomach warns him as his hands begin to sweat and his chest gets tight. He wishes he could feel those lips again. But it feels so wrong. Maybe it was due to the fact that he feels like it betrays Steve in a way. Or maybe it was due to the fact that men aren’t allowed to love men.

Well. He was doing that anyway.

Bucky gets out of his bed and makes his way to his small kitchen, getting a glass of water to attempt to cool himself down. His skin was burning from all the work his mind wouldn’t stop doing. He leans against the counter, eyes focused on the small chair at his dining table, the memory of Steve sitting down and sketching on the back of a poster he took from town. Bucky had insisted that he could just buy Steve a new sketchbook, but of course, he denied it. He smiles at the thought of Steve but feels a slight ache. How could he do this to Steve? But what was he doing exactly; it wasn’t like Steve would know about Howard. Not only that, but he isn’t even _ with _ Steve.

It just feels wrong in some way Bucky can’t explain. He glances at the clock he had on the wall. It was nearing 0200—the party had ended hours ago. Bucky considers calling Howard but quickly dismisses it. He wouldn’t pick up this late. His mind was clouded with thoughts of Steve and Howard. It was truly a mystery of how Bucky had never realized he loves Steve. But now he had to deal with these feelings about Howard. If you could even call them feelings. He knew he could never have Steve, but Howard—he was right in his arms. He grimaces at the selfishness of his thoughts. He still decides to call Howard in the morning before he trudges back to bed and forces himself to sleep.

* * *

“Bucky?” the voice is soft and grainy through the phone.

Bucky takes a deep breath, “Hi, Howard.”

He’s shaking as he holds the phone. Maybe this was a bad idea. He’s quiet for too long, which makes both boys more nervous. He almost hangs up the phone right then, but he lets out a shaky breath and attempts to build the courage to speak. “Can I come over?”

That wasn’t what he planned on saying.

“Uh,” the pause is too long for Bucky’s liking, “Yes, of course.”

He slams the phone back down, hanging it up. There’s tension building in his chest and he’s almost tempted to scream to let it out. He settles for a deep breath before going to get dressed and go to the Stark house.

Meanwhile, Howard paces in his room, fixing his hair every few minutes. He had already changed his shirt four times. He knew he was being ridiculous. It was amazing how Howard Stark, the player, the flirt, could turn into a nervous mess due to one boy he’s known since childhood. Bucky could be coming through the door any second. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

Howard repeatedly told himself that he’s overreacting. This is the boy who was always confident and could seduce any woman he saw, but when it came to Bucky—well, he was just a mess. There was a knock at his door, his butler appearing. “James is here to see you.”

“Thank you, bring him in.” He tries desperately to keep his voice steady.

Bucky walks inside the ridiculously large room, stopping dead in his tracks the moment his eyes meet with Howard. The two of them remain silent for a while, unsure of what to do now that they’re in the presence of one another. The feeling of fear lingers in his chest as Howard stares at Bucky. After what feels like an eternity, Bucky clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Howard is quick to respond. “I know I reacted harshly last night, I was a bit rude about Steve, I’m- I was jealous and I shouldn’t have taken it out like that, you can love whoever you want, Bucky. It’s not my decision, it’s not really yours either, but you get what I mean. I’m sorry I kissed you out of nowhere then continued to pressure you.”

“You’re rambling.”

And for some reason, Bucky felt more drawn to him. He’s taking steps to close the gap between them before he even realizes. He’s not even thinking. His brain has completely shut down and his whole body was on some sort of autopilot. His eyes never left Howard’s as he reaches up and places a hand on his cheek. His stomach began swirling, twisting, pulling. They stay centimeters apart until Howard can’t stand it anymore and closes the last bit of space. 

Bucky had wanted the kiss to be soft, more intimate than last night, but the need and desperation crawling up his throat decided otherwise. Their lips moved in a way Bucky didn’t know was possible. They stumble backward until Howard falls back against a wall. This time, Bucky didn’t think of Steve. They got messier, the kiss turning wet and sloppy. Howard’s mouth feeling like velvet against his tongue; it was a craving that got stronger and couldn’t be satisfied.

Bucky’s arms held Howard against the wall, and he let out a small whine. The sound went straight to Bucky’s groin, which made him press them against the wall harder. His thigh pushed against Howard in a tortuous way, but he didn’t seem to mind. Howard’s hands clawed at Bucky’s back, his hips rolling against the thigh in between his legs ever so slightly. 

Bucky was intoxicating. This was all Howard had ever wanted and he just melted beneath his touch. All those years of longing for Bucky never prepared him for this. He could feel his blood pumping south, his heartbeat in his ears, and the pull in his stomach. At this point, he knew Bucky could feel his growing erection. He was almost ashamed but the deepest desperation for Bucky’s tongue against his kept them pressed together. 

Bucky himself was getting harder every second. Their kissing only got faster. The whole room seemed to be getting warmer and his head began to spin. He pulled away and stumbled back, Howard whining at the loss of contact. <strike>Bucky’s dick did, too.</strike>

“Sorry, I- I don’t know what got into me.” The whole room began to spin now, his breath picking up pace, but Howard noticed almost instantaneously.

“Bucky, look at me. _ Bucky _.”

It was like the previous night all over again. He hated that he had no control over his mind or his body the moment he felt himself spiral. Howard was always the one who helped him stay grounded. Just as he was at this moment. He does the breathing exercise with Howard as he always does, his body calming down. 

“This isn’t right,” Bucky’s voice was so quiet, Howard almost didn’t hear it. 

Brows knit together in confusion and fear, “What?”

“We can’t do this, Howard. It’s going to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t love you back and-”

“Bucky, _ please. _ Please just let me have this.” Howard thinks he might just break down immediately if Bucky denies.

He’s just quiet, lost in thought, running every scenario through his head, considering if this could actually work for them. He was scared. He doesn’t address it again, leaving Howard alone with his thoughts and his fear of rejection. 

* * *

**“Did you get a haircut?” Steve asks as Bucky walks through the door, a paintbrush between his lips.**

**Bucky jumps about three feet in the air, clutching his chest. “Fucking ** ** _Christ_ ** ** Steve. You gotta tell me when you’re coming over.”**

**Steve hides a smile as best he can, sticking the paintbrush behind his ear and hopping off the stool. “You shouldn’t have given me a key, then.” He hands the stack of mail he brought in for Bucky, humming as he wanders into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. Bucky’s still trying to slow his pulse, staring at the mail like it just fell from the sky.**

**“You didn’t answer my question.” Steve points out, coming back into the living room with his glass. “Did you get a haircut?”**

**Bucky rubs the back of his neck, toeing off his shoes and hanging up his hat. “Yeah, figured I needed one.”**

**“The long hair suits you.” Steve says absentmindedly, already padding back to his easel. Bucky stares at him, the tips of his ears reddening. What the hell was he supposed to take from that?**

**“Well, my ma doesn’t think so.” He hedges, setting down his bag and following Steve. “What’re you working on?”**

**“Just a still life of the apartment. The lighting is best during the day and, well, some of us still have holidays off.” Steve’s nose crinkles, appraising his work so far. “I didn’t think you’d be home until later. I was gonna make us dinner.”**

**Bucky grins, cuffing Steve upside the head lightly. “Aw, c’mon, you aren’t mad at me, are you? Last time you cooked you gave me ** ** _food poisoning_ ** **. Class let out early. Figured I’d get a cut and head back to start on my homework.” A splash of color catches his eye and he steps back, stifling a laugh. A splotch of blue stands out against Steve’s blonde hair, a blunt line from where he set the paintbrush behind his ear.**

**“What?” Steve catches Bucky staring, trying to follow his gaze. “Buck, ** ** _what?_ ** **”**

**“It seems you’ve started using your hair as a canvas.” Bucky grins, taking the paintbrush from Steve’s ear and wiping off the residue down the bridge of Steve’s nose. “There. Completes the look.”**

**The look of pure murder in Steve’s eyes is enough to make Bucky cackle in delight, always eager to push Steve’s buttons. “Problem, Stevie?”**

**Steve answers by dragging his hand through his palette and smacking the side of Bucky’s face, dragging his hand down in a line of color. **

**There’s a pause, both of them staring at each other before Bucky’s on Steve, dumping the palette over his head and rubbing it into his hair. Steve squeals, ducking underneath Bucky’s arms and grabbing a tube of paint and squeezing it in Bucky’s direction. Bucky yelps, narrowly missing the spray of red paint before he grabs Steve around the middle, pulling him backwards onto the floor. Steve lands on top of him with a huff of a laugh, Bucky trying to grab the tube of paint out of his hands.**

**“You bastard, this is a new suit!” Bucky laughs, blindly grabbing for Steve’s wrist.**

**“And you painted my _f_** ** _ace_ ** **.” Steve shoots back, trying to wriggle off of Bucky to no avail. Bucky finally grabs the tube of paint from his hands with a triumphant, ** ** _“Ha!”_ ** **. He tosses the tube out of reach and Steve huffs his defeat, neither of them moving. Bucky is suddenly very aware of how close Steve is, how Steve is ** ** _on top of him_ ** ** and breathing heavily against him. He all but dumps Steve on the floor, clambering to his feet in a vain attempt to try and hide the flush creeping up his neck and the growing problem in his pants. He looks down at the splotch of red on his shirt, swearing under his breath.**

**“Damn, you actually got me.”**

**“It’ll wash out.” Steve is still getting to his feet, his voice sounding smaller. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking–”**

**“I’m impressed that you managed to hit me, not mad.” He throws a reassuring grin over his shoulder, already pulling off his jacket. “‘s just a shirt.” Bucky had thirty more like it at home and wasn’t even planning on keeping this one for longer than another wear or so. He walks towards his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off to drape it over a chair. He rifles through his closet for another one before he hears Steve’s voice at his back.**

**“Wait.”**

**Bucky turns, his eyebrows knitting together. “What?”**

**“I...I have an idea.” Steve twists his fingers, trying his damndest not to look too flustered. “Leave your shirt off.”**

**Bucky starts, not quite sure he’s hearing Steve right. “Pardon?”**

**Steve looks almost pained as he points back to the living room. “I have an idea.”**

**Bucky dumbly follows Steve’s finger, walking out to the living room and wondering what the hell Steve’s got in his head now. His heart is pounding a million miles an hour, the stupid part of his brain chanting over and over again, ** ** _Steve wants you shirtless Steve wants you shirtless_ ** **. He turns back towards Steve once he’s in the middle of the room, cocking an eyebrow and trying his best to seem in control of his own emotions.**

**Steve seems less sure of himself now, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “I want to paint you. On you, I mean. Shit, I mean** **–** **”**

**“Okay.” Bucky cuts him off with an easy smile that hides how fast his heart is beating.**

**“Really?” Steve sounds surprised, blinking.**

**“Why not?” The thought of Steve that close doing something as intimate as brushing paint over his body makes him feel like he’s going to explode right out of his skin, but he would be a fool to ever pass this up. Even if he does faint from the blood rushing straight from his head south. “How do you want me?”**

**They both, mercifully, ignore the accidental double entendre.**

**“Just– lay on your stomach.” Steve gestures vaguely to the ground, turning to grab a handful of paints and mask the way his cheeks are absolutely ** ** _burning_ ** **. He doesn’t even know where the idea came from, only knows that he saw the wide expanse of Bucky’s shoulders, the same ones he had painted and drawn time and time again, and desperately wanted to mark it with something of his own. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before** **—** **the two of them spent more days in the summer without their shirts than with them** **—** **but for some reason, this was different. He ignored the way his hands shook as he grabbed his palette and cup of brushes, setting them down next to Bucky’s prone form. “Put your arms out a bit.” He murmurs, an idea already forming in his head. He focuses on it, grabbing onto it like a lifeline to ignore the way his heart is trying to beat out of his chest for some reason and how his brain is trying to race a million miles an hour.**

**Bucky closes his eyes, thankful for the cool wood floor against his burning cheek. He almost doesn’t dare to breathe, afraid of spooking Steve off and shattering what must be a dream. He feels too hot, his chest too tight knowing Steve is ** ** _right there_ ** **. The first brushstroke against his back makes him jump, not ready for the cold bristles against his back. Steve murmurs an apology, moving the brush up and down his back. Bucky’s intensely aware of how vulnerable he is, quite literally laid out for Steve as he brushes paint across his exposed skin. He doesn’t want to think about the intimacy between them right now, the way the smaller brushes drag across his skin slowly, deliberately. He tries to keep as still as possible, even when his skin goosebumps at the feel of Steve’s breath on his neck as he drags a brush down his spine. Everything in him is working on overdrive, his mind short-circuiting at how close Steve is, at what Steve is fucking ** ** _doing_ ** ** to him.**

**Steve is almost completely silent above him, only making the slightest noises of appreciation or frustration as he moves from Bucky’s shoulders to his arms. Bucky, for his part, does his best to keep his fingers still and his breathing even. It’s just Steve painting, something he’s seen a million times before. Sure, he’s now currently using Bucky as his own personal canvas and making Bucky feel like he’s about to explode from one-sided sexual longing, but other than that it’s exactly the same.**

**“Done.”**

**Bucky almost doesn’t hear Steve’s soft voice over the hammering of his own heart. He stays prone on the ground, finally opening his eyes. “How do I look?”**

**“I’ll show you. Here, get up.” Steve nudges Bucky’s hip with his foot, already disappearing into Bucky’s room to pull out a full-length mirror. He drags it in front of Bucky before going into the bathroom to grab a smaller, handheld mirror. He watches Bucky as he slowly rises, blinking at the late afternoon light slanting through the blinds. Steve presses the mirror into Bucky’s hand, turning him around so he faces away from the full-length mirror. “See for yourself.”**

**Bucky turns the mirror in his hand so he can see Steve’s work on his back, his breath hitching as he sees what Steve’s done. His back and arms are a swirl of constellations and stars set against a purple-blue sky. Across the middle of his back and running along his arms is the New York skyline in all of its glittering glory, stretched out fully when Bucky extends his arms out. It’s brilliant, it’s beautiful, and it’s something only Steve would know to paint for him, ** ** _on_ ** ** that he wants to cry, wants to swing him around, wants to kiss him silly. He drops the mirror to look at Steve’s expectant, hesitant face.**

**“It’s perfect.” Bucky breathes, torn between staring at his back and staring at the masterpiece in front of him. Steve flushes under the praise and moves behind Bucky, motioning for him to hold up the mirror again. He motions to two different constellations on Bucky’s back, his finger trailing so lightly against Bucky’s skin that Bucky’s sure he is going to implode right then and there. “Here’s Pisces—that’s you. And here’s Cancer. That’s me. You taught me these ones.”**

**Bucky remembers. A hot summer night in the park, both of them lying in the grass while Bucky pointed again and again at the sky even though Steve could barely see, pointing out all the constellations they could see. Over the next year, Bucky would drag him out again and again to the fire escape or back to the park, pointing to the sky as the stars shifted and teaching Steve everything he knew.**

**Bucky smiles, dropping the mirror and turning his head to look at Steve. “It’s incredible, Stevie.” He can’t get his voice above a whisper, doesn’t trust his voice as his throat tightens, heat building behind his eyes. Of course, Steve remembered, because Steve remembers everything about Bucky, no matter how big or insignificant. It’s overwhelming and he can barely think through everything happening, let alone formulate the words Steve needs to hear right now. Instead, he holds Steve’s gaze, desperately trying to find something, ** ** _anything_ ** ** that would make him feel like he isn’t wrong for wanting this. That he isn’t the only one that wants this. Steve doesn’t look away, his own heart picking up at the way Bucky is looking at him. Bucky thinks he sees Steve’s eyes flick towards his lips, but–**

**“I should go. You probably have a lot of homework.” Steve murmurs, already slipping towards the hallway and putting on his shoes before Bucky can register the loss of him at his back. “See you tomorrow.” There’s an attempt at forced cheerfulness into his voice, as though he didn’t just spend the past hour bent over his best friend’s naked back, painting his heart onto his skin.**

**Bucky stares at his reflection in the mirror, his pupils blown and splotches of black and blue paint wrapping around his sides. He’s going to have to call someone to help get this off of him. He shouldn’t have looked at him like that—now he’s freaked him out and sent Steve running.**

**Steve shuts Bucky’s door behind him, leaning against it as he tries to catch his breath. ** ** _Holy hell, what has he gotten himself into? _ ** **Somewhere between this morning and right now, a missing puzzle piece had finally slid into place after years of searching for its empty spot. Steve had been trying to deny how Bucky made him feel from the day he met him but he can’t ignore his body now, the way his heart is about to beat right out of his chest just from being too close to his fucking ** ** _best friend_ ** **. Bucky humored him, just like he always does, but he took it too far. He shouldn’t have used him as a ** ** _canvas_ ** ** for Christ’s sake—could he be more obvious?**

**He tips his head back against the apartment door, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he knocks his head against the door in frustration.**

**Bucky leans his forehead against the mirror, hitting his head against the glass and cursing himself.**

** _Fuck_ ** **.**

* * *

Bucky sighs, twirling the rings on his fingers as his parents talk to artists he didn’t even know the names of. He almost forgot how often the Barnes family threw their parties for the rich and lavish families of New York. Throughout the whole party, artists occasionally stopped by and shook his hand, introducing themselves and trying to impress him in some way, knowing James Barnes would one day take the place of his father. He couldn’t care less about any of the people in his home. He wished to be back at the apartment with Steve. Or to be with Howard somewhere else. Like they did when they were younger; sneak away from the party and go for a drive, or sit up on the upper balconies away from the others and all the noise. Becca was talking to some boy in the corner and she had already shooed him away, despite the fact that he was just trying to be a good older brother. However, Becca called it “overprotective.” 

He caught a glimpse of Howard in the next room over after he had disappeared for about an hour. They had been exchanging heated glances all night. He immediately got up; it wasn’t good for his image to be sitting alone for such a long time but he only accepted company to a familiar face. Howard is chatting up a pretty dame, making a face he recognized instantly. It causes a spark of jealousy, he shakes his head, but the feeling remains. 

“Howard!” He calls out as he enters.

The blonde looker he didn’t recognize snaps her head to look at Bucky. Howard turns, appearing slightly annoyed, smiles anyway. “Hey pal,” he turns back toward her. “Could you excuse me for a minute?”

Howard pulls him down an empty hallway. Before Howard can even speak, Bucky is pinning him against the wall. “_ What are you doing? _” Bucky’s voice is thick and coarse, the heat of jealousy and anger creeping up his neck.

The color drains from Howard’s face ever so slightly—just enough for Bucky to notice. Bucky’s arms where on either side of his head. Something about this was turning him on. Maybe it was that Bucky was jealous, maybe it was the frustration he showed, or maybe it was the physical aggression. Bucky’s eyes narrow further, reminding Howard he was supposed to provide an answer. “I was just chattin’ to a dame,” he shrugs. 

Bucky knows he shouldn’t be jealous; he shouldn’t be mad at Howard at all. He wasn’t in control of him nor were they together or exclusive. Something inside him snapped and he felt out of control. “And _ why _ would you do that?” he spits back, his mouth moving faster than his mind. 

He tells himself to stop, to straighten up, but Howard’s face starts to show innocence and it fuels the fire burning in his chest _ and _ his crotch. “Sorry, sugar. Was just tryin’ to have some fun. I didn’t know you were in charge of me.”

The smug look on Howard’s face only added to Bucky’s anger. He knew Howard’s intentions but he couldn’t hold himself back. He wanted to pull Howard into the nearest bedroom and show him how he really felt. Maybe he should—they weren’t kissing but they were so close that if anyone found them in this position, there would definitely be trouble. Bucky presses his thigh into Howard’s crotch, effectively immobilizing his legs. A small whine slips from Howard’s mouth. The look on his face downright filthy. 

“You might wanna cut it out,” Howard’s breath is short and heavy, “it’s gettin’ me all hot. We can’t do this here.”

Bucky thinks for a moment and begins to calm, coming to his senses. “You’re right. If we’re seen this could ruin both of us.”

“So can I get back to talking to that dame, or are you gonna babysit me all night?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches, “just don’t sleep with her.”

“Okay, baby.”

And just like that, Howard slips away. Bucky curses himself silently for not at least kissing him. The party was supposed to go on for another three hours, so it was possible he still had a chance. The two of them weren’t together; they hadn’t even had sex. But something about Howard couldn’t keep Bucky away. He found himself agreeing to come home more often in hopes to have a chance to see Howard. All of their lavish parties were filled with stolen kisses and forbidden stares. 

The only reason no one had picked up on the situation was because the boys had grown up together. It was normal for them to share jokes and knowing glances. Everyone assumed it was boys being boys. In this case, it wasn’t at all. Bucky never told Howard how he felt. He felt guilty. It was a heavy feeling to carry around. Any time he was actually with Howard, it isn’t what he thought about at all. It was like he could never get enough. Howard was a drug Bucky just couldn’t quit. It was quite selfish of him to behave like this. He was addicted to Howard because he took his mind off of Steve. And sure, Bucky had kissed a few girls here and there, but they definitely didn’t kiss like Howard. 

Bucky stands in the empty hallway for a couple more minutes. He readjusts himself through his thick suit then makes his way back to the main room of the party, he does his best to not look at Howard as he walks by. He hopes he’ll have a chance to kiss that smug look off his face later. 

* * *

Howard continued to flirt with other girls and even a few boys on the sly, with the only purpose being to spark that jealousy within Bucky. Howard craved the aggression from him; it showed he cared, that there was _ something _ there. And every time, Bucky just lost control, dragging Howard off somewhere to hold him down while he kisses the breath straight out of his lungs. The two of them never went further than a bit of necking, but they were always desperate to continue. 

They were usually broken away by the fear of being caught. It was almost routine for every party now. It was something they both looked forward to. Filthy thoughts, roaming hands, desperate lips, and velvet tongues. It may have been getting a bit out of hand but Bucky had become so addicted to Howard. He couldn’t have Steve but he could have Howard. He hated how selfish he was being. He didn’t want to hurt his best friend from childhood but the passion was there—he couldn’t deny it. The chemistry between them was strong, anyone could see that. But it was wrong of him to continue this with Howard when his priority was still Steve.

And then Sarah got sick. Steve was a mess. And Bucky did everything he could to help both of them. He had gotten Sarah into the best sanatorium in New York. But nothing seemed to help her. She knew about Bucky’s money—the secret he tried so hard to keep. She told Bucky not to leave Steve. She made him promise. He was going to keep that promise, he swore on it.

And he did. But this meant that he needed to distance himself from Howard. He knew that. He also knew he didn’t want to. 

**In the end, the disease she had helped countless others through burned through Sarah Rogers like fire and left nothing in its wake but a corpse and a bill from the sanatorium that Bucky took care of behind Steve’s back. He had held her hand and watched the life leave his mother in front of his eyes, was unable to process that the woman he loved more than anything in the world was suddenly gone. Bucky held Steve back as they removed her body from the room, taking the blows Steve landed with his elbows and fists on Bucky’s arms and chest as he screamed and screamed. He took the curses Steve hurled at him, at God, at the doctors and the whole damn world. And once he had burned himself out, Bucky carried him to his own apartment and tucked him between the sheets of Bucky’s bed. He let him sleep for fourteen hours straight, carding his fingers through his hair as he slept and wishing more than anything in the world that he could smooth the crease between his brows that wouldn’t smooth out, even in sleep.**

**When he woke up, his eyes were the flat, dull blue that scared Bucky to death. He didn’t fight Bucky when he plied him with soup and bread, or when he told Steve he was covering the funeral and burial costs. He just stared dully ahead, barely responding to Bucky’s questions and refusing to talk at length about Sarah. Bucky was frantic and out of his element, trying to keep himself together for Steve while mourning the loss of a mother figure that had loved him even through the lies. His money hadn’t been able to save her, nothing he did had been enough to save her; now Steve only had Bucky and an apartment full of his mother’s old things. Sarah had made Bucky promise that he would never leave Steve, but the truth of it was that Bucky ** ** _couldn’t_ ** ** leave Steve, a fact of the universe as incontestable as gravity. He was bound to him, Steve a personal sun that he couldn’t imagine ever not orbiting around. He loved him and would tear himself apart if it meant that Steve would smile, something that became increasingly obvious as the days passed without any emotion for Steve.**

**The funeral was a small affair, only a handful of nurses and doctors from the hospital Sarah worked at in attendance alongside Steve and Bucky. The priest might have said something about death not being the end, or maybe tried to guilt them all into converting to Catholicism; Bucky didn’t hear a word, his eyes trained on Steve the entire time. When they lowered her into the ground, next to the father he never knew, Bucky kept his hand on Steve’s shoulder, a pitiful gesture compared to the way Bucky wanted to wrap himself around Steve until they couldn’t decipher where one of them started and the other ended. And when Steve fell to his knees, his fingers pressing into the fresh dirt and shaking with silent, dry sobs, Bucky was there, wrapping an arm around him and holding vigil over him.**

**Bucky has never been a religious person, but he curses God that night as Steve’s breathing evens out next to him.**

** _How dare You make him suffer._ **

“Howard, I’m sorry.” Bucky can’t bear to meet Howard’s eyes as he delivers his piece, tears threatening to spill as he speaks. “I’m sorry, I really am. I care about you so much, but this is for the best.”

Howard doesn’t respond.

Bucky continues, “If things were different, we could continue. But Steve needs me right now. Maybe one day...we can do it again. I- I know you probably won’t want to talk to me for a while—or ever again. And that’s okay, I understand. I’m sorry I was so selfish.”

Howard can’t even think. His brain turns to mush and the only thing in his mind is _ but I love you but I love you but I love you _. He knows that wouldn’t change anything. Bucky couldn't love him back. He loved Steve, and that was always clear; he knows he can’t help it but the sting is strong. He knew what he was doing to himself all along. He knew this would come and Bucky would want to stop at some point. 

He couldn’t even be mad at Bucky for wanting to stop. Steve’s mom had just passed and he knew Bucky would take a protective role and look after Steve the best he could. Bucky was all he had left. He knew this. It didn’t lessen the pain.

“I know why you’re doing this, it’s okay. I’m still your friend and I always will be. I’ll take my time but I will always come back to you, Bucky.”

He just hoped maybe one day Bucky could, in fact, love him back.


	2. 1937-1939

**“No.” Steve doesn’t even look up from the magazine he’s flipping through, trying to get a sense of the advertisements’ art style. He knows the WPA job won’t hold out forever and has been looking for something to hold him over as he looks for something more permanent.**

**Bucky sighs in frustration, hauling himself up from the table with a little more force than necessary. “You practically live here now, Steve. There isn’t any reason why you can’t just move in with me. You’re only torturing yourself and draining your pocketbook if you stay there.” They’ve had this argument a dozen times since Sarah died, Bucky pushing for them to move in together to save money. Steve can barely stand to be in the apartment anymore, the memories still too fresh after six months, but he can’t bring himself to move out of the last place he shared with his mother. They both know that it’s only a matter of time until Steve’s money runs out and he’s evicted, the landlord too smart to pass up the opportunity to list a two bedroom. He won’t take Bucky’s help, but Bucky would take the stubborn fire over the hollow look in his eyes that haunted him for weeks after Sarah died.**

**“Steve, look around you. People are squeezed ten people to an apartment and you’re not even living in one that has two perfectly good bedrooms.” Bucky knows it’s mean, to use Steve’s good heart against him like this, but he ** ** _needs_ ** ** to force Steve’s hand. If he doesn’t, he’s going to land himself on the street with all of his mother’s few belongings tossed onto the sidewalk like trash. Bucky has been in the Rogers’ apartment more than Steve has in the months since Sarah died and he knows Steve will never be able to live there again without breaking. He promised Sarah he would take care of him and ** ** _dammit_ ** **, he wasn’t going to let Steve become homeless due to his bullheaded stubbornness.**

**His lecture, at least, gets Steve to shut up for long enough that Bucky knows Steve’s at least heard him. “Look,” He tries, his voice softer. “I make enough that I can carry us through, even if you lose your job with the WPA. We can move wherever you want, or stay in Brooklyn—it’s up to you. There’s plenty of cheap places on the market now.” It wasn’t a total lie, the apartments he had been looking at ** ** _were_ ** ** cheap to Bucky.**

**Steve continues flipping through the magazine, though Bucky knows him well enough by now to know that he isn’t paying attention to the pages at all. “Something small. Nearby.” He concedes, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. He knows that Bucky’s savings must be drained after the funeral, too ashamed of his own inability to function immediately after his mother’s death that he can’t even apologize. But whatever they’ll get has to be better than what he’s been shelling out for his old apartment, which was currently taking his entire paycheck. Him and Bucky have been talking about getting their own apartment for years, but the prospect is suddenly terrifying now that it can become a reality. Visiting Bucky was one thing, but living full-time with the man he was head-over-heels in love with seemed like an impossible task. But he was running out of time and excuses to counter Bucky’s damn puppy dog eyes he gave him when he asked Steve why he couldn’t live with him.**

**“Of course.” Bucky all but stumbles over himself to reassure Steve, waving his hands around ineffectually. “We can go look whenever you’re free. I have a few places I’ve been looking at, y’know, from the papers.”**

**“And I get a say on where we stay. Nowhere where I can’t afford, no matter what your fancy schmancy job pays you.” He warns, flipping the magazine closed. “We’re equals.”**

**Bucky just nods, swallowing the argument that’s trying to claw its way up his throat. “Whatever you want, Stevie.”**

* * *

**Bucky’s eating his words later on as Steve insists on a shitty one bedroom apartment that was well within Steve’s budget even before Bucky told the landlord he would pay most of the rent himself. He’s positive that the heat won’t work when winter comes around and swears up and down that he saw a rat in the bathtub, but Steve won’t be budged. The other apartments were, in Steve’s words, “too good to be true” for the price that Bucky had manipulated down so Steve would take. Bucky digs his heels in and tells that no way in hell is he moving into ** ** _that_ ** **. But when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, Steve Rogers ends up winning. Which is how Bucky sweats through his several shirts lugging Steve’s furniture up four flights of stairs and making the best use of a space that Bucky’s convinced is the size of a solitary confinement cell. But Steve is happy enough, which is all that’s ever mattered, and Bucky sucks up the fact that he might see a cockroach every time he turns on the shower and the fact that he can hear their damn neighbors every time they move around.**

**They move Bucky’s bed into the apartment, which takes up nearly the entire sorry excuse for a bedroom, both of them realizing a little too late that there’s only one bed. Steve’s about to open his mouth to volunteer to sleep on the couch when Bucky shrugs, punching Steve in the arm lightly as he walks back to the main room. “Well, guess it’s good we’re used to sharing a bed.” Steve’s glad Bucky can’t see the way his whole face reddens. Bucky walks into the kitchen and presses his forehead against the refrigerator door, desperately trying to calm his racing heart.**

** _You’ve really fucking done it now, Barnes._ **

* * *

He knows he told Howard that they needed space—that he needed to focus on Steve, but he just really fucking missed Howard. He didn’t see him much anymore, nor did they talk. Howard never called, never wrote, but then again neither did Bucky. He knew they were still friends.  _ Maybe if I went home for once, I could talk to Howard, _ Bucky curses himself. But it’s true; if he wasn’t going home to the Hamptons, how was he supposed to have Howard’s company? 

Something about it was just nerve-wracking. He didn’t want to show up at a party again, knowing Howard would be there, and pick up on their friendship like nothing happened. Or worse: actually address the situation and reopen the wound for both of them. How could he ever talk to Howard the same way again? He had ruined the situation by allowing their little  _ thing _ to go on for so long. Well, maybe if he hadn’t cut it off.

_ No, no I had to cut it off, _ he tries to rationalize with himself. He needed to cut it off because he  _ needed _ to focus on Steve. He had to take care of him at that time in his life. It would’ve been wrong and unfair to continue things with Howard during that. Now, though, Bucky was surely paying the price. Every single night he shared a bed with Steve. Every day he came home to Steve. And these were great, amazing even, but also torturous. He was constantly hiding erection in his own home. He was constantly suppressing his feelings and urges. He wanted Steve so badly, and he could never have him. 

It was so  _ so _ selfish of Bucky to once again crave Howard to fill his desire for Steve. He needed  _ something _ . And Howard was the only person who could actually take his mind off of Steve. He couldn’t live like this. He just needed intimacy, touch, desperation, passion, anything. He couldn’t have that with Steve. He couldn’t have that with Howard. He couldn’t have that at all. 

They didn’t even need to kiss, he just wanted touch. He just wanted company. He just wanted a distraction.

_ God, he missed Howard. _

* * *

**He’s drunk. Way too drunk. It’s his father’s birthday party, which always signals the beginning of the semester and all of its associated stresses. It means that he’ll see Steve less and his textbooks more, but for some reason he’s here with a bunch of loose acquaintances instead of spending his last days of summer with the best friend he’s absolutely gone dizzy over. As much as Bucky hates the cold, he has developed a new vendetta against summer with its heat and propensity to make people strip off their layers to cool off. He’s seen Steve in various states of undress plenty of times before, but the combination of his realized feelings and the new definition to Steve’s muscles from hours painting huge murals has had the unique effect of driving Bucky up the fucking wall. He’s positive there’s some higher being punishing him when Steve walks throughout the apartment with his shirt untucked and open, blissfully unaware of the physical pain he’s causing Bucky. Steve has also taken to air drying after showers, wrapping a towel around his waist and wandering the apartment as he waits for the warm summer air to dry him off. Bucky has claimed heat exhaustion far too often in the past few months, sitting in freezing cold showers with his hands in his hair, trying desperately not to touch himself at the mere thought of tugging the towel away from Steve’s hips and touching him everywhere.**

**In short, he’s pretty sure he’s going to go fucking insane.**

**Even though he’s now one of New York’s most sought-after bachelors, Bucky has had very little experience in the entire realm of relationships, utterly uninterested in girls in general and too far gone with Steve to realize he’s been missing out on the most important part of being in his twenties. There’s enough rumors started by hopeful women that it keeps him largely out of the spotlight, but it doesn’t change the fact that Bucky has spent the past few years acting like a nun. And, if he is being frank, he is tired of it. He is tired of making himself crazy at not being able to press Steve up against every surface of their shitty apartment like he wants to, so he drowns his sexual frustration in glass after glass of expensive scotch. It’s a rare moment where he doesn’t necessarily care what the rest of the crowd thinks of him, his bowtie a little too loose and his hair falling out of the gel he ran through it just hours before, curls plastered to his forehead by sweat from dancing in the summer evening air.**

**He is, however, aware enough to realize that the Randolf boy has been staring at him the entire night, remembers enough that he was on the list of people Howard drunkenly listed one night, assuring Bucky that there were more fairies in New York’s elite than just the two of them. But he <em>** ** _is_ ** **</em> just drunk enough to think that it would be a good idea to cross the room, lean in to be heard above the din of the orchestra and ask him how he was enjoying the party.**

**“It’s...lovely.” Bucky smirks against his ear—close enough to see the way his—what was his name again? David?—whole body shivers as he responds. He doesn’t remember much about what Howard had told him, but he does know that David—he’s pretty sure now that it’s David—is all slate blue eyes and too-light blonde hair but it’s enough to pique Bucky’s muddled mind into interest.**

**“Well,” He starts, making sure that his lips brush against the shell of David’s ear as he speaks. “If you find that anything isn’t to your liking, I’d be more than happy to take you somewhere more satisfactory.” He pulls away, draining the rest of his glass and setting it on a passing tray. He turns back to the orchestra, pretending to pay attention to the violin solo while David processes his mind being blown beside him. There’s a part of Bucky’s brain that’s screaming at him to stop, that this is far too public and far too risky, regardless of what he thinks Howard had said months ago about the guy. He has almost no experience to stand on, could be exposed in front of everyone within seconds, and knows he should take a fucking second to figure out if this is what he wants.**

**But then David turns back to him, blue eyes wide and blown and it nearly punches the breath out of Bucky. He wants Steve, more than he’s wanted anything in this godforsaken world, but he can’t have him. Not now, not ever. So if what he needs to do is bury his feelings under other men, find someone else that he can fool around with and get over Steve with, then so be it. Maybe none of it makes sense, but he isn’t sure his mind has made sense, sober or not, since that night Howard kissed him. So he shoves it down, doesn’t think about it, focuses only on maintaining his composure in front of hundreds of guests as David inches up to murmur in his ear, “Actually, I do think I could do with something a little different.”**

**“Upstairs, two flights, take the first hallway on your left. Ten minutes.” He doesn’t think, just gives David the directions to his room and leaves, shaking hands and passing pleasantries as he makes his way to the back stairs. He studiously avoids Howard and Becca, a task far easier now that Howard has a new girl of the week on his arm and Becca has turned her infatuation from Howard to a boy who happens to be the firstborn to a coal magnate. Not even the scotch can calm his nerves, his mind suddenly racing at the thought of someone noticing the two of them slipping away together, regardless of the fact that neither of them are suspected of being anything other than two good, female-loving bachelors. He doesn’t want to think about how stupid he’s being, doesn’t want to think about the way this could destroy his entire life in an instant, the way his father would throw him down from their man-made heaven if he ever found out his son wanted men like this.**

**So he doesn’t, breathes in through his nose and blocks it all out. And when David rounds the corner to his hallway, he doesn’t hesitate in grabbing his hand and pulling him into his room, locking the door securely behind him. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to be reminded in all of the ways that David isn’t Steve because he is here to get <em>** ** _over_ ** **</em> Steve. So he drags David into a rough kiss that’s too much teeth and tongue and he isn’t quite sure what he’s doing, but apparently it’s working because David is making noises beneath him that make all the blood in Bucky’s body go straight to his groin.**

**But he doesn’t think of Steve when David drops to his knees and drags his slacks down to his ankles. He doesn’t think of Steve when he threads his fingers through blonde hair and when he arches against the wall in pleasure. He doesn’t think of Steve when he looks down and sees blue eyes looking back at him and comes undone at the seams. He doesn’t think of Steve when he fumbles with buttons and zippers, pushing his hand inside of slacks and stroking someone who decidedly <em>** ** _isn’t_ ** **</em> Steve, which is exactly what he wants. But, after Bucky wipes his hand off on a fresh towel and they stand panting against each other, his delusion is shattered.**

**“My name isn’t Steve. It’s David.” David sounds more exhausted than irritated, already tucking himself back into his pants and readjusting his tuxedo collar. He leaves without further word or fanfare, leaving Bucky leaning against the wall, wishing someone or something would smite him where he stood.**

* * *

“Howard.” Bucky breathes. 

“Hi, Buck.”

His body shakes in relief as he pulls Howard into a hug. “I’ve missed you. So much. I’m sorry I didn’t call or write, I was just so scared.”

Howard hugs him back, tightly, “It’s okay, Bucky. I get it. I didn’t call or write for the same reason.”

Howard wanted nothing more than to kiss Bucky. He knew he couldn’t do that. So he just held him tightly and breathed in the familiar scent while he could. There was a small sting in his chest. He missed what they had. He truly missed pulling each other down dark hallways and into empty rooms, stealing kisses and risking everything just to touch one another. 

Bucky loves Steve though, he knew that. It was wrong of him to impose and step in the way of their relationship—if he could even call it that. He loved Bucky so much, he would truly do anything to make him happy. And Bucky had asked for them to stop, so it was wrong of him to ask for it again.

Bucky pulled back, looking Howard in the eyes, “I hope you don’t hate me.”

Howard almost laughed. “Of course I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I told you that. I was just scared—nervous. I didn’t know how to reach out. I wanted to give you the space you asked for. I did miss you.”

Bucky felt the same guilt as before. It clawed at the inside of his chest and made him feel terrible. He was horrible for doing that to Howard. For leading him on, for cutting it off, for craving it again. Howard didn’t deserve to be second place. Howard was amazing to Bucky; he always knew exactly what to say and what to do. He loved Bucky for who he was and didn’t ask him to be anything he wasn’t. Howard was truly his best friend. He deserved to be someone’s first. 

It was unfair that Bucky could never truly love him back. Of course, Bucky loved Howard. With his whole heart he loved Howard. Just not in the same way Howard loved him. Bucky hated himself for that. 

It was something that was out of their control, but it didn’t hurt any less. 

At least the two of them could talk again. They didn’t have to worry anymore. They were friends, they could talk, spend time together. And hopefully, it would be just as it was before. They knew it wouldn’t be. Not completely, at least, there was just too much tension between them. They tried anyway.

* * *

It wasn’t long before Howard became his bouncy, bubbly self around Bucky again. Before, he had been extremely closed off. In fact, Bucky hadn’t seen Howard much after they broke it off. Well, except for work. He now made an effort to see Howard every time he went home, he had missed his best friend and wanted it to feel just like old times.

They never did much, usually just sit in one another’s presence. Howard often worked on whatever little trinket it was that day, Bucky would read. Sometimes he would practice violin, or maybe piano if it was available. 

Bucky had even tried to teach Howard once. 

They sat on the bench, shoulders touching. Bucky placed his hand over Howard’s, showing him which keys to press and how fast to move. Howard wasn’t  _ awful _ but he was also far from good. Even with Bucky’s hands over his, he managed to miss keys and couldn’t keep up. 

Bucky smiled to himself, watching Howard concentrate on the keys and his hands. It was something he did so effortlessly, and Howard had to give it his full undivided attention. He noticed the way the look on his face slowly became the same one he made when he was focusing on whatever technology he was improving at the time.

He got better as they kept practicing, Howard insisted on starting over every time he messed up. And normally, that could be considered annoying. But it was Bucky, and so he just laughed and started them from the beginning once more. Maybe it was just an excuse to keep his hands on Howard’s, he wasn’t sure.

There was always the feeling of longing that buried its way deep into Bucky’s bones. A feeling he couldn’t shake, so he just chose to ignore it. He needed to be there for Steve, he couldn’t keep fooling around with Howard, it would only hurt them both in the long run. So he pushed it down. He continued to spend time with Howard, hoping to rebuild their relationship.

But, oh, how he just wanted to lean over and press a kiss into his lips. And Howard secretly wanted that too.

* * *

The wind whipped around them, roaring loudly over the motor. Howard was definitely pushing the limits, driving faster than Bucky had ever fathomed was possible. Howard had decided they were going to take his brand new Jaguar SS 100 out for a spin, despite that it was already quite late; he was a bit eager to see if it could actually go to that top speed of 100mph they said it could. Bucky’s small curls flew around his face, a smile spreading across his cheeks. Howard’s laughter rang in Bucky’s ears. 

This would’ve been a lot more dangerous had they not been on an empty backroad outside of the city. The drive out of the city had been calm and quiet, but now, Howard’s laughter boomed over the sounds of the wind and the motor as his foot pushed the pedal to the floor. Bucky wasn’t sure how fast they were going or if it was even possible to go any faster, but at this moment he feels on top of the world. 

He feels the vehicle slow down, the straight portion of the road soon coming to an end. 

Howard shouted, beaming as he looked to Bucky. “98, baby!” 

“We hit 98 miles per hour?” Bucky was in disbelief.

Howard had many cars, including the Duesenberg Model SJ, which could go faster than 100mph. It was still impressive, however. Bucky had never gone over maybe 60 in a car before and not in one that had the top down. Howard just grinned, turning around the corner and heading back towards home. 

“It definitely lived up to its name.”

Bucky thought Howard looked exceptionally beautiful like this: in a pure state of bliss, dimly lit by the moon and street lights. And maybe Howard thought the same about him. That didn’t matter though. 

It felt great to be with Howard again—in his company, smiling and laughing, just like they used to. For a while he was worried they may never talk again. Now they were here, driving in the middle of God knows where, having the time of their lives. It wasn’t even something that was particularly fun, but rather the fact that they were in the presence of one another. The two of them had always fit together like some sort of puzzle.

* * *

**“Bucky.” He freezes at his name, halfway through taking his shoes off by the front door.**

**“Yes?” He asks, trying not to let his anxiety get the better of him at the tone Steve is using with him. “Everything okay?” He finishes getting off his other shoe and walks into the room where Steve is sitting at the table, looking at a folded piece of paper.**

**“I got a scholarship.” Steve’s voice is full of disbelief as he unfolds the sheet of paper, reading off of it. “The Art Students League of New York is offering scholarships for up to four years of full-time study or six years part-time study for past and current recipients of the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Hidden Artists Program.” He blinks up at Bucky, offering the paper. “That’s me.”**

**Bucky can’t keep the grin off his face, grabbing the paper out of his hand and scanning it over. He’s lucky his father kept his name off of the proceedings, putting everything through the League instead; Bucky figures he owes somebody above a few prayers tonight for that one. His father’s assistant had gotten it all set up far quicker than he had expected, now opening up the possibility of Steve enrolling for the fall alongside Bucky’s schedule. He pulls Steve out of his chair and all but crushes him in a hug, letting out a breathless laugh against his ear. “You deserve it, pal. All of it.” He pulls back, attributing the flush of pink across Steve’s cheeks to the exciting news. “You’re gonna take it, right?”**

**“Didja inhale too many chemicals at work?” Steve teases, snapping out of his stupor. “Of course I’m going to take it! I can see if I can knock down my hours a bit, maybe take classes at night…” He trails off, his eyebrows furrowing at Bucky’s expression. “Hey, I know that look. I’m not quittin’ my job, Buck! I said I’d pay the rent and I meant it! Don’t come at me with your fancy job and act like you can take care of everything. I can do this.”**

**Bucky sighs, already defeated before he’s begun. He wishes Steve didn’t have something to prove, that he knew how much it hurt him every time Steve struggled to make the rent when Bucky could make his financial worries disappear in seconds. He hates the fact that every time they have this argument, he’s only reminded of how much Steve wouldn’t understand why he lied to him all these years, how he can really never tell Steve if he wants him to stay around. And he does, very much; enough that he lets the argument drop, lets Steve win this one even though he knows they’ll have this same conversation four times before the week’s over. It’s infuriating and makes him want to pull his hair out every time he thinks about it, but at least it still means he has Steve in his life, and isn’t that the only thing Bucky has been revolving around for six years now.**

* * *

The two went out to celebrate his scholarship. Steve still denied Bucky’s attempt to pay all the rent. He was probably the most stubborn person Bucky knew. But they celebrated nonetheless. They sat next to each other at a bar just down the road from their apartment. Now, the two of them weren’t exactly the legal drinking age, but Bucky managed to slip his name to the bartender and a stack of bills. He sat next to Steve, two drinks in hand.

“I’m so happy for you, Stevie. You really deserve this.” 

They both drank too much. Steve stumbled his way down the sidewalk, bumping into Bucky every other second. Steve was rambling about something, Bucky couldn’t even keep up anymore. He just smiled, nodded, and kept moving along. Bucky was dangerously drunk, he found himself staring at Steve’s lips as he smiled and laughed. They were almost home now. 

Bucky tried to stop himself from staring, tried to stop himself from freezing up when Steve got a little close. Bucky fumbled putting the key in the door, both due to his nerves around Steve and also due to how intoxicated he was. Steve bent down to pick it up and managed to get the door open.

“Sorry,” Bucky giggled, “I think I drank too much.”

Steve closes the door behind him, struggling to take off his coat, “I probably did, too”

Bucky laughs again, helping him take off the coat. Steve, on some sort of drunken auto-pilot, began to take off his shirt too. Bucky, despite this not being the first time, froze when he saw Steve’s bare back. His heart pounded in his chest and in his ears. The shirt hit the ground. It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be topless these days, but that didn’t mean Bucky could ever be prepared for it. 

He could feel his blood pumping. Maybe that was just the alcohol. Bucky knew he was staring, he couldn’t stop either. He hadn’t been able to all night. His eyes travelled over the small bit of muscle definition Steve had. His eyes focused on the dimples in his back, just above his waistband. Steve turns, meeting Bucky’s eyes. If it was possible for Bucky to freeze even more than he already had, he certainly did. 

“Somethin’ catch your eye, Barnes?”

He stumbled over his own thoughts, unable to produce any words. His mouth parted as if he was about to speak, but no sound came out. Steve’s gaze drifted to his lips and hovered. Bucky’s skin burned, heat spreading throughout his entire body. He felt light headed; he was sure he’d pass out any second.

Steve took a step forward, eyes still fixated on those bright pink lips. “Bucky.”

It didn’t break Bucky out of trance. Steve continued to inch closer and soon they were so close they exchanged breaths. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, finally responding. It was barely audible at all, but Steve somehow heard it due to the close proximity.

However, Steve didn’t answer the question. His eyes darted between Bucky’s features, trying to read something in his eyes. His hands found their way to Bucky’s skin, fingers tracing the defined muscles of his abdomen. He was so close he could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“I want to kiss you.” 

The world spun around the two of them. But somehow time was getting slower. Steve was still looking for some sort of emotion, response, anything from Bucky. He was drunk, he was spiraling, he had never done this around Steve. He did his best to steady his breaths; this is all he ever wanted. There wasn’t a reason to panic. Steve’s fingers stopping tracing his stomach and made their way to his cheek. 

The touch helped ground him. He reached up and held Steve’s hand in his own. His breathing slowed, but his body stayed hot. Bucky couldn’t look away, even if he knew his cheeks were burning under Steve’s gaze.

“Is that okay?” Steve asked, gently.

Bucky just nodded. And that was all he needed. Steve leaned forward while pulling Bucky’s head down, their lips finally meeting. Bucky’s chest tightened and his heart raced. The kiss started gently, like a kiss in a schoolyard—nothing more than a little peck. But it was enough to make the fire burn red hot inside him. Bucky’s hands found themselves gripping Steve’s hips, his thumbs tucking themselves just under his waistband.

Steve let out a little whine and suddenly Bucky was  _ desperate _ . He was desperate for Steve’s touch, for his tongue against his, for the heat of his skin. Their lips moved against one another now, getting messier and messier. Bucky pushed Steve backward, never breaking contact. His back slammed against the wall, successfully making him whine once more.

Their hips pressed together, thighs slotted, hands gripping anything they could. Steve was getting hard, and Bucky could feel it against his thigh. There was a strong pull in this stomach. He pressed his thigh into the growing erection, Steve pushed back in response.

“Fuck, Stevie.” Bucky was breathless and painfully hard. “We need to go to bed.”

Steve groaned, “No, Bucky, please.”

“Steve, you’re drunk. I’m drunk. God, I’m so drunk. I want you so bad. But if we’re going to do this, we need to be sober.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky silenced him with another kiss. “We’re going to go to bed. If you want this in the morning, I'll be more than happy to continue where we left off.”

* * *

Bucky’s head pounded, the light seeping through the window made it sting in a way he’d never experienced before. He rolled out of bed and stumbled over, ripping the curtain shut and blocking out the light. His eyes adjusted to the new darkness, Steve was still asleep. He was in nothing but his underwear, hair tousled, and lips swollen.

The feeling of panic erupted in his chest as he desperately tried to remember last night’s events. They went out to the bar; Steve had gotten a scholarship. Bucky got them some drinks. He remembers sitting at the bar, laughing with Steve. And—and then nothing. He’s here; he’s awake. He doesn’t remember coming home, he doesn’t remember anything past that at all. He doesn’t even know how many drinks he had. 

Steve shifts. His eyes open, “Oh hey, Buck.”

“Mornin’, Stevie.”

He’s cautious. Maybe Steve remembers last night. Did he confess his love? Did he kiss him? His mind is spitting out questions faster than he can think. Steve must’ve noticed his panic.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. My head just hurts from last night.”

Steve nods, then scrunches his nose and furrows his brow. “Do you remember how we got home? Or when we got home?”

Relief surges through his body. “No,” he laughed. “I don’t.”

Of course they were blackout drunk. Bucky won’t ever know what happened. Neither of them will. The panic lingers, but at least Steve wasn’t rejecting him. At least he didn’t face the threat of Steve tellin’ everyone he’s a fruit. He wasn’t ready to say I love you. But yet, he was. He just wanted to get over this stupid love. 

“Well, I hope we didn’t pay for a taxi like a bunch of lazy bastards. It’s only like 4 blocks.”

* * *

**Bucky caught on fairly quickly to the signs: red ties, a green suit, the right length topcoat, the flick of eyes that gave away that someone was checking him. Maybe it wasn’t helping him get over Steve, but it was surely helping with keeping his hands to himself, especially when Steve rolled over in the night and bumped against Bucky, unconsciously curling against the warmth of him. It was enough, and that was all that Bucky needed to tide him over until the feelings finally went away. Sooner or later, he figured, his heart would accept that he could never have Steve, and the feelings he had harbored for almost a decade now would fizzle out into nothing more than friendly love. Something uncorrupted, like what Steve deserved. He might even learn how to be happy for him one day when Steve inevitably got married and had a family.**

**But for now, he had to be content with drowning everything in expensive liquor and expensive men. He went home less now that his mother was ramping up her attempts at matchmaking, but he still found enough time to slip away during long dinners with politicians and at galas no one would miss him at him. At least, initially. He was now stuck at a dinner party that was going on its fifth hour, his father wining and dining New York’s politicians to keep the Barnes in their good graces, particularly now with America’s public finally looking up to the rich and wondering why they continued to prosper. Howard and Bucky had been throwing bored glances across the table to each other all evening, but Bucky was in desperate need of something far more entertaining. He had been restless for weeks, unable to shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, but couldn’t possibly piece together what. Steve had caught onto the way he walked like an anvil was always hanging over his head and had turned those damned baby blue eyes on him and made Bucky feel like he was drowning.**

**In short, he needed to get laid.**

**So, when dinner ended and the more informal part of the night began, Bucky took no time in tracking down the Senator’s son Fredrick, far too flamboyant for his own good and always a bit too obvious with the way he looked at Bucky. It wasn’t his first choice, but Bucky wasn’t quite in the mood for the drawn-out process of figuring out who in the room was a fairy, or at least attracted enough to power to be persuaded to swing for the other team for a night. He knew they couldn’t be gone for long without suspicion, but he knew where the dark enclaves of the house were, the ones that not even the staff frequented. It was a perfect plan, had already pressed Fredrick against the wall and was busy finding the buttons to his trousers when a hiss from behind him made him freeze, detaching himself from his partner’s neck and whirling around.**

**“Howard?”**

**“Bucky?” Howard looks like he’s just been slapped in the face, shock and hurt registering across his face. The Senator’s son is swearing up a storm behind Bucky, fixing his tie and collar in a frantic attempt to make himself look decent. Before Howard can say another word, Bucky turns back to Fredrick, holding out a hand.**

**“He won’t say anything. Go.” He manages to breathe out, keeping his voice low out of necessity and for the fact that he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack from fear. Fredrick is gone before he can blink, stumbling over himself in his haste to get out of the dark hallway. Bucky tries to take a steadying breath that ends up doing no more than alerting him of how much he’s shaking, and turns back to face Howard.**

**“What the fuck was that?” Howard’s voice is tight and confused and it kills Bucky that he’s looking at him like this.**

**“Why are you here?” Bucky asks, a little too harshly.**

**“I was looking for you. You just...disappeared. I thought maybe you felt sick or something.” Howard trails off, almost flinching at Bucky’s tone. “Bucky, what are you doing?”**

**“Nothing you haven’t done.” It comes out sharper than he wants it to, now on the defensive. And why should he be? It was Howard that started this whole mess, kissing him when he knew Bucky had feelings for Steve. It was Howard who had listed off the names of his male conquests and bragged about the way he couldn’t sit straight for days after some of them. It was Howard who had someone new every week and went through men and women paper. But the way Howard’s face only falls further makes Bucky soften, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean that. I’m...just having fun.”**

**“With Frederick?” Howard almost sounds insulted, his voice rising to a sharp whisper.**

**Bucky just shrugs. “Not my first choice.”**

**Howard steps closer to him, his eyebrows furrowing as his mind works overtime to piece it all together. “You...how long? How long have you been fucking risking your ass like this?”**

**“A year? I don’t know, Howard, what does it matter? You do the same thing.”**

**“You were necking in a fucking hallway!” Howard whisper-yells, gesturing wildly behind him for emphasis. “You’re lucky it was me that caught you and not someone else. What are you thinking?”**

**“No one’s found me yet. I’m fine. No one found us when ** ** _we_ ** ** did it all those years ago.” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, avoiding Howard’s eyes.**

**“Bucky, why?” Howard’s voice cracks at the end of his question and Bucky realizes that he’s no longer asking why he’s risking his entire reputation just to get some tail.**

**He’s asking why it wasn’t him.**

**Bucky’s breath catches in his throat again, swallowing hard. “Howard, it’s not–”**

**“Isn’t it? You clearly have no problem sleeping with everyone else. I backed off after you asked me to. Never brought it back up again, thought that’s what you wanted. Figured maybe I had read you wrong after all, that your thing with the little guy was a phase. Clearly you two still aren’t together.” Bucky flinches at that, but Howard doesn’t stop. “I thought to myself, ‘Hey, he’s just lovesick—it’s like a fairy version of Prince and the Pauper’. But you were really busy fucking the rest of New York.”**

**“Howard–”**

**“You knew that you could trust me. You know that I would rather die than hurt your reputation, let alone go down with you in the process. So why risk your fucking name to sleep with guys that aren’t even attractive?” Another exaggerated wave of the hand backwards in the direction that Fredrick ran off in. “Do you not trust me?” And Bucky hears it, plain as day underneath his voice.**

**Why am I not good enough?**

**“I trust you.” Is all Bucky can think to say, his heart breaking for his oldest friend.**

**“Then why,” Howard steps closer to Bucky, his hand already cupping his cheek and mouthing at Bucky’s jaw. “Why won’t you let me?”**

**Bucky wants to give in. He wants to stop thinking about how he’s hurting everyone closest to him, wants to stop thinking about his inevitable future with a wife and kids and a legacy to fulfill, wants to stop thinking about his inability to get rid of his feelings for his best friend and his inability to love his other best friend back. He wants to stop thinking, and so he does.**

**He lets Howard kiss him, insistent and edged with desperation and something that feels like two years of waiting. He lets his instincts take over, far more experienced now than in the couple years filled with small kisses, grabbing the lapels of Howard’s jacket and shoving him up against the wall. Howard stifles a filthy moan, melting against Bucky and grabbing at him like he’s drowning. It’s enough to knock sense back into Bucky, pulling away from Howard, even as his lips chase back after Bucky’s.**

**“Howard, Howard we can’t.” He breathes, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead against the wall.**

**“Yes we can. You can.” Howard teeth catch Bucky’s earlobe and it’s nearly enough to make his brain white out again, but he drags himself back.**

**“I can’t hurt you.” He tries pushing Howard back against the wall and away from him, but all he gets is another whine of approval and lips chasing after his neck. **

**“You aren’t going to hurt me. Stop thinking.”**

**Bucky steps back, leaving Howard in a heap against the wall. They stare at each other, breathing far heavier than they’d like to admit in the dead silence of the hallway.**

**“I’m not using you, not like the rest of them. To them, to me, it’s all just a fuck. A night.” He lets his gaze wander over Howard, undone and glassy-eyed. “It isn’t that for you.” He ends softly, hating himself for letting himself get this close. “I’ve already hurt you once.”**

**It’s cruel, he thinks, that it was Howard that fell for Bucky. Cruel that Bucky could have probably loved him back, if not for a Brooklyn boy who wore his heart on his sleeve and his bruises like badges. Cruel that they could have made it work in a world in which Steve didn’t occupy every part of Bucky’s heart, a world where they could have married rich wives and spent furtive nights and long weekends together, secret yet happy. Cruel that it was Bucky that made Howard’s wandering heart stick for so long on one of the few things in this world he couldn’t have. Cruel that the first person he found that was like him was also the one whose heart he had to break over and over again, year after year.**

**He loves Howard. He always would love the boy who taught him how to breathe through his panic attacks, who made him shriek with delight flying in loops over Long Island Sound, who braved seasickness again and again just so Bucky could show off his new sailing skills. He would always love one of three people still alive that didn’t call him James, the one that never asked him to be anything other than himself, who went along with every harebrained scheme Bucky could think of with only a shrug.**

**He just didn’t love him like that.**

**“I don’t care.” Howard whispers and Bucky could hear the lie in his voice from a mile away. “I don’t care what it is to you. This is safe, Bucky. Don’t be stupid.”**

**“I’m not going to hurt you, Howard. Not like that.” Bucky takes another step back, not entirely trusting his body so close to Howard’s.**

**“Who says you haven’t already?”**

**One night. He thinks. Just one night and that’s it. We’ll both get it out of our systems and it’ll be fine. Just once.**

**His pause is all Howard needs, seizing the opportunity. “You want it too. Don’t deny it.” His voice is low and hoarse, straightening as he loosens his tie a fraction. “It’s written all over your goddamn face.”**

**Bucky can only shake his head, his whole heart and mind screaming at him to stop because he can’t hurt Howard, not more than he already has.**

**But then, that horrible little voice in his brain. Don’t you owe it to yourselves?**

**And maybe they do. Maybe he owes it to Howard to give the chemistry they’ve had their whole life another shot; maybe it’s the push he needs to get over Steve. Maybe they could work out, Howard slotting into this part of his life as easily as he had with the other sides. Maybe he could be what Howard wanted him to be, and what Steve deserved him to be. Or maybe it was the push Howard needed to realize that Bucky was desirable only because he had been unattainable, needing just one night for him to realize that there wasn’t anything that differentiated him from the other men that shared his bed.**

**“Stop fighting it,” Howard whispers. Bucky steps forward, touching his elbow and searching his eyes. “It’s okay.”**

**Bucky vaguely wonders if that’s what he’s been waiting for this entire time—permission—as he surges forward and presses his lips against Howard’s. There isn’t that spark, the magical electricity that the authors always write about, but there is a fire, something smoldering and steady between them. It’s the easy chemistry of two people that have known each other forever, the way that Howard knows Bucky is left-handed and always tilts his head to the left when he’s about to say something smart. It’s in the way that Bucky knows Howard favors his right knee after a polo injury when he was twelve, and that he has always been self-conscious about his height. It’s the way the way they’ve always moved around each other, easy as breathing after 21 years, translates near-seamlessly into moving against each other, hands roaming and hips tilting against each other in a rhythm they’ve made from knowing others and knowing each other.**

**Howard kisses like he’s drowning and Bucky’s air, years of yearning now distilled down to a moment neither of them had planned for. Bucky’s nearly overwhelmed by the force of it, the attentiveness he’s never received with anyone else. And when Bucky breaks away to tell him that they need to move, the whine of protest that escapes Howard’s lips just about brings Bucky to his knees.**

**“Room.” He manages to breathe out, already trying to figure out the best route to his bedroom that would take them both past any of the staff and the party. He hates to admit that Howard’s right—this is much safer, the two of them long known for wandering off during parties together to drink and smoke or to go for a joyride in someone’s car. No one would miss them, no one would think it suspicious that the two of them were absent at the same time from the party. It’s not like anyone ever had before. And so he takes Howard’s hand and all but drags him behind him, up a back staircase and through the darkened halls to his room, making sure to double check the lock before turning back to Howard.**

**They stare at each other, the distance between them feeling more like a chasm now that they’ve had time to let their brains catch up with them. Howard does his best to hide his nerves, but Bucky could point out his tells better than his own mother, and he realizes with a start that Howard looks vulnerable. This is the last chance Bucky has to bow out, to decide that whatever results from this is more trouble than it’s worth, to possibly hurt Howard even further by rejecting him for a third time. But he still stands there, twisting the gold ring on his hand that was given to him by his father when he turned 18 and holding Bucky’s gaze.**

**“Last chance, Barnes.” He says softly, his smile small and sad.**

**“You too, Stark.”**

**“I’ve made up my mind.”**

**That’s all Bucky needs, stepping forward and cupping Howard’s face to press their lips together. It’s slow and sweet and makes Bucky realize that he doesn’t just want to give Howard what he wants, he wants this too. He wants to be with someone who cares about him, who’s seen every side of him and still has stayed, who wants to take care of him for more than just pleasure’s end. He won’t think about how it isn’t the right person he’s kissing, just focuses on the fact that someone cares about him and that he cares in return. He wants it to be that simple. He’s going to make it be that simple.**

**Before he has time to panic about this being far too intimate, of leading Howard on to something he isn’t sure he can follow through with again, Howard saves him by biting his lower lip. He covers Bucky’s left hand with his own, pulling it from where it’s cupping Howard’s cheek down to his throat, positioning the hand just so. Bucky pulls back, blinking in confusion and half-expecting to see Howard blushing like a dame. But he stares at Bucky full-on, his pupils blown and eyes dancing with mirth. “C’mon, Barnes, you’ve never choked a fella?”**

**And though the idea has never even crossed his mind, he does have a great desire to wipe the smirk off of Howard’s face. He squeezes, tentatively at first, melting away whatever cockiness Howard still had into a filthy moan that sent Bucky’s other hand flying up to cover Howard’s mouth. They stare at each other, Bucky wide-eyed and Howard arrogantly pleased, as they wait to see if anyone heard. No one had, of course, everyone far too busy downstairs with the party to stand outside of Bucky’s door and listen in. Bucky opens his mouth to whisper a warning to Howard when something wet touches his palm; he draws his hand back as though he’s been burned, staring at Howard incredulously.**

**“Did you just lick me?”**

**“Doll, you haven’t seen anything yet if you think that’s the most I can do with my tongue.”**

**Bucky squeezes Howard’s throat again, pinning him against the door with a growl.**

**“I’m not your doll.” He warns, emboldened by the way Howard grinds his hips against Bucky’s thigh.**

**“Christ, just fuck me.” Howard breathes, his voice already starting to unravel as Bucky presses against him, kissing him roughly. For once, they’re both in agreement.**

**For once, it isn’t Steve’s name that Bucky moans when he comes, biting a bruise into Howard’s shoulder as he falls apart inside of him.**

**Afterwards, they lie together in a kind of comfortable silence, panting and sticky with sweat and come. For once, Bucky’s mind is quiet, the post-sex bliss clouding over everything he knows he should be worrying about. He just knew that he didn’t have to worry about swearing anyone to silence, or kicking them out before they started asking questions; he could just lay here, content, for once. He doesn’t realize he’s closed his eyes and is halfway to sleep until he hears Howard shift next to him, groaning as he sits up. The reality of it all starts to sink in then, the conversations he knows they need to have and the implications of all of it starting to loom over him like a cloud. Howard glances down and sees the crease start to form between Bucky’s brows, can just about see the gears turning in his head.**

**“We don’t have to talk about anything now.” He reassures him, stretching his arms above his head and sighing as his spine cracks. “Party’s probably over.”**

**“You can stay,” Bucky blurts out, a beat too late. “Your folks probably already left.”**

**But Howard just shakes his head, already off Bucky’s bed and starting to dress. He feels like he’s on top of the world, but he can feel himself falling already. He doesn’t want to be around Bucky when the crash hits, the realization that it was all perfect and everything he ever wanted and, at the same time, all he’d ever get. He doesn’t need to ask Bucky to know that this won’t work between them, doesn’t want to get his hopes up past what he’s already allowed himself already. He should learn how to be grateful for the little he’s already gotten, but he was born into a long line of greed and want and he can’t help but want more. His mind has been warring for years over whether or not it would be worth it, to be someone on the side for him when Steve inevitably broke his heart—he still isn’t sure he has his answer.**

**So he dresses quickly, covering the bruises Bucky left with Italian wool and cashmere, patting his pocket to make sure he still has his cigarettes and wallet. Bucky watches him all the while, swallowing hard around a lump in his throat that he doesn’t understand. Howard catches him watching and walks over to the edge of the bed, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Bucky’s hairline.**

**“Thanks, Buck.” He says simply, giving him one last bittersweet smile before unlocking his door and slipping out into the night.**

**Author's Note:**

> Lots and lots of love to zee (wintermadethissoldier) for writing rich bucky and also allowing me to write this spin off and encouraging it! Love you so much.


End file.
